


You'll Go Down (in History)

by Rokikurama



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Christmas Fluff, Christmas Smut, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), F/F, Fluff and Smut, Ineffable Wives (Good Omens), Inspired by Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, Mild Smut, Prayer, Summoning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:48:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21842461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rokikurama/pseuds/Rokikurama
Summary: Of course Aziraphale would learn how to use a bloody smartphone when given the proper incentive. For instance, Crowley all dressed up in antlers and a bright red shiny nose.Written for the 12 Days of Blasphemy Good Omens challenge.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 33
Collections: 12 Days of Blasphemy





	You'll Go Down (in History)

Aziraphale would never have gotten away with it if Crowley hadn’t taken it as an article of faith*

*demonic, that is, of course.

that she would never use a phone with a camera. It had been hard*

*liquor

enough simply convincing Crowley to put on the nose.*

*She could credit her dear’s own genius for the pig tails and antler headband.

“You can’t be ssssseriouss, angel,” she whined, “it classsssshess with my hair, no blessssed way—”  
CLICK  
Oh dear. Anathema hadn’t told her there would be a noise.  
CLICK-CLICK-CLICK-CLICK-CLICK-CLICK-CLICK-CLICK-CLICK-CLICK-CLICK-CLICK-CLICK-CLICK *

*Anathema had, however, been skeptical enough of Aziraphale’s ability to manage the phone that she had set its default to “burst mode.” Adam and Wensleydale would later take great joy indeed in assembling the various stills into a gif of Crowley-the-Red-Nosed-Reindeer’s pout transforming into shocked mortification.

On the other hand, that Aziraphale was holding a phone up at Crowley’s face after several hours of convincing the demon to try on a Rudolph costume to pair with her Hermey-the-Dentist-Elf get-up*  
*Aziraphale had wanted to be Dancer-the-Reindeer (she knew the gavotte!) but been over-ruled by the argument that Crowley would then demand to be Dasher, Dancer’s reindeer partner.

would also, as they say, be A Big Clue.

Needless to say, a chase ensued. Aziraphale thwarted more demonic wiles and curses protecting the phone’s vulnerable “Memory Card” than she had during the entirely of the 1960s. Long disused knowledge of tactical battlefield positioning—and Crowley’s advanced state of inebriation—held them at stalemate despite Aziraphale’s inherent clumsiness. She was sincerely chuffed with herself, sliding dangerously close to new and exciting sins like Pride, when Crowley did something entirely unexpected.

\---

Making deliberate eye contact with the angel, Crowley knelt. She grinned wickedly, then slowly, deliberately, brought her palms together and ducked her head. To pray.  
“O Blessed Aziraphale, Guardian of the Gate, Principality and Protector of Earth,  
Come to this sinner now, I pray you, in this my hour of need.”  
“Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed,* “that is not what—"

*And, most importantly (from Crowley’s viewpoint, anyway) took a slow step towards the kneeling demon, smartphone held loosely in one dangling hand.

“O Angel of the Blessed Lord, I invoke thee with thanks and praise.  
Thy beauty, thy power, thy glory,  
That could save a wretch like me, I beseech you.”  
That might be stretching it a bit, but not bad for a half-remembered angelic invocation. Aziraphale’s wings manifested, lighting up the bookshop as though the sun had burst out from behind the clouds.*

*Making quite a picture with her elf hat, Elvis wave hair, pointy shoes, and dental pliers.  
“You don’t—it’s been a long time since anyone directly—ooh, my—”

Aziraphale was within three steps of Crowley now, but the radiance of her wings slid down her form, transmuting everything to creamy white robes. Her eyes grew impossibly larger and brighter, shining with the radiance of a clear spring day. An impossible breeze ruffled Aziraphale’s curls and kissed the air with the faint scent of jasmine and honeysuckle. Crowley had lost track of the phone—shouldn’t it be in the angel’s left hand?—but something about Aziraphale’s eyes made it hard to focus on anything else. Breath-taking but also… imperious?  
Distant alarm bells started to go off in the demon’s brain as she abruptly found herself planted face-first into the bookshop dubious carpet, hands still raised in prayer and supplication at what was now an uncomfortable angle.

“You seek a boon, dearest maiden?”

Crowley tried to roll her eyes at “maiden”* but found herself unable to move, except to whisper an answer.

*Even as something warm inside her purred warmly at “dearest.” Even if Aziraphale was apparently unexpectedly transmogrifying into some angelic eldritch being, she still loved Crowley best.

“Yes, O Angel, blessed be your name.”

“You have offered praise but as yet no thanks,” Aziraphale intoned in a voice that was at least vaguely familiar. A cousin, perhaps, of the one she used to say things like “but I’ll always know the stain was there.”

“What would an Angel desire of a wretched sinner like me?” Crowley’s voice murmured, and okay, ow, that hit a little close to home. Tears abruptly pricked at Crowley’s eyes, and yeah, no, this was NOT on, whatever this, this ritual she had stumbled into was.

“Oh Dearest,” an impossibly gentle hand pet Crowley’s head, running soft, warm fingers through her hair. “Doubt not that thou art loved and worthy.”

Relief swept through Crowley like a wave, reminding her somehow inescapably of the first proper bath she and Aziraphale took together. The angel’s giggles rang like silver bells, each one sending a tin wave of warm water, crested with soap bubbles, to wash over Crowley. Aziraphale’s fingers traced lines of warmth down over Crowley’s tattoo and to her chin. One finger effortlessly drew her from prostrate up to kneeling. The angel was very, very close now. Definitely no technology (or tacky costume, for that matter) anywhere in sight, but Crowley wasn’t sure she would’ve had the wits to delete the picture even if Aziraphale put the damned phone in her hand.

“There is much I would have of you.”

Crowley moaned as visions flew through her brain of just what she could do in “thanks.” Aziraphale reclined backwards, robes slipping away to reveal acres of soft skin. Crowley crawled forwards, eyes drawn to a patch of perfectly curly blond hair. As much as rational thought was rapidly slipping away to be replaced by heat and slickness, Crowley dug her metaphorical heels in. She pulled backwards again the seemingly irresistible force until she was satisfied that she could, if she wanted to, back out of this.* 

*Something in her demonic soul prickled at the whole situation, even though when they did break out the frivolously miracled restraints, Crowley was always the one who found herself in them.

She just had to be sure. And then there was no more need to wait.

\---

“How is it that I’m in …this…. still, but your terrible* Christmas party costume is banished into the ether?” Crowley griped. It didn’t have much bite to it, snuggled up between Aziraphale’s breasts as she was.

*Adorable

“Ineffable, darling,” Aziraphale said, softly petting Crowley’s hair. She continued—and Crowley imitated her voice, badly, on cue—with the traditional, “best not to question it.” Aziraphale yanked lightly at one of Crowley’s pigtails in retribution.

“I am sorry—”

“None of that, it was… mmmm. Good. Just bloody typical that angelic powers get stronger when you’re summoned.”*

*Demonic summoning rituals, of course, trapping the demon in question in a circle within which they were virtually powerless. This had not stopped Crowley from leaving every such incident with (at least) a soul plummeting downstairs and many favorable real estate contracts, mind, but it was the principle of the thing!

“So you might be…amenable to repeating this, ah, experiment?”

“Fuck yes, angel, extremely fucking amenable.”

A statement like that could not pass without kisses, and so nothing more was said for several minutes.

“Got rid of that phone though, didn’t I?” Crowley said, a slight trace of smugness creeping in. Aziraphale sighed.

“Anathema will be so disappointed in me, the poor dear.”

“How is it that you were willing to use technology for the witch, angel, but every time I try to—"

Unfortunately for Crowley, it was at just this moment that her own phone pinged. She’d been tagged on Instagram. By Anathema. The caption read:  
#TheMostFamousReindeerOfAll #CloudStorage

**Author's Note:**

> I blame curtaincall's tumblr post   
> https://fremulon.tumblr.com/post/189712853916/christmas-song-lyrics-that-sound-like-titles-for  
> for this entirely.


End file.
